


Prinus

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bilbo is So Done, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, because apparently bagginshield is my life now, much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>For every Mighty Oak there was a Nut that stood its ground.</em> </p><p>The acorn is the seed of the mighty oak tree; therefore, it symbolizes potential and strength. A strength that Bilbo Baggins needed in all his years of loneliness, death, and waiting, in faith of a potential that may save him once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prinus

**Author's Note:**

> baggi n shi el d man ;-;  
> fluff  
> 100%  
> they lived!!!!!!!!!!

William Packetts stepped through the rusting gate and literally felt the weight lit off his chest.

The crisp air, free of the usual fumes of smoke and choking exhaust, carried upon it the promise of rustling leaves and green plains and tree-lined avenues. He could almost pretend that he was out of the city, back home…but to truly be home? Now that was impossible.

He closed the gate behind him, shutting off the last trappings of the city and immersing himself in the peace of the park. The sun had barely cleared the foggy horizon; aside for a few joggers and perhaps one or two like-minded walkers, he was sure that the park would be almost entirely empty.

His suspicions were confirmed as he wandered down the deserted paths, the shade of the trees painting dark splats on the smooth concrete.

Will glanced at the slim wooden posts lining the wide path and smiled to himself; fondly he recalled the time when he, as a child of barely seven, had been leaping enthusiastically between the posts, deaf to his father’s protests, when he had fallen and scraped his knee. This had resulted in his mother swooping in and fussing like a mothering hen, and him catching the closest he had ever seen to a smirk on his father’s face.

He remembered another time, when he had climbed the massive tree in the Party Field, resulting in an oddly similar aftermath; then again, his two lives had _always_ been oddly similar, running on parallels spanning two worlds.

His name had been Bilbo Baggins in another life, and he had to admit that William fit the bill soundly.

Will sighed, watching as the clouds of warm breath dissipated into the cold air. He was going on thirty-nine, his eyes were more brown than green, his curls were darker; he wondered if Thorin would even recognize him if they met.

And there we were.

Will sniffed abruptly, his nose wrinkling. Partly from the cold, and partly because it was a nervous habit that had stuck with him all the way since–

He was not doing well today.

Sliding his hand into the pocket of his jacket, Will glanced down briefly. His fingers touched something small and smooth, warm in the protected snugness of the coat; unnatural sparks tingled up his fingers, a crystal-clear memory breaking through the reluctant barriers between Will and Bilbo’s minds. It was one of Bilbo’s fondest, most re-visited memories, and Will couldn’t deny that he also thought back to it recurrently. More recurrently than acceptable, as he had never technically met the man in this life.

 _Dwarf_ , he reminded himself gently.

Of course, along with the memory of warm blue eyes and a dark beard twitched up with a smile came the memories of the same eyes clouded over in death and the beard stained and matted with lifeblood.

Will sniffed again, briskly shoving the small object deep into his pocket, muttering to himself as he was inclined to do.

‘That won’t do,’ he berated himself. ‘That won’t do at all.’

Resolutely tilting his head to once more study the emerald-green of the trees, Will shrugged shortly in an effort to shake off the memories. They were gone, he was gone, and Will was never seeing him again. That was the end of that, and Bil – _Will –_ should stop pining over past events.

His mind had other ideas.

‘Oh, hush,’ he told the memories, brow furrowing in disapproval as the persistent echoes refused to leave.

Will concentrated determinedly on the birdsong in the branches, on the emerald-green trees and the shaded fields, on the blue sky visible behind patchy clouds; he studied the almost unnaturally smooth concrete beneath his feet, and the rusted chains between the posts. He almost managed to lose himself in the park – the real world – when he saw the bench.

More specifically, the man sitting _on_ the bench.

The bench was half-shielded by a sweeping oak tree, leaving only the back of the man’s dark head visible. The sun seemed to have gone behind a cloud, the grounds darkening – or perhaps it was just Bi – Will’s – imagination.

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, Will continued to wander down the path. The dark head had brought unwelcome thoughts of Benedict Calamity, previously known as Smaug, the black-haired politician who seemed intent on destroying Will’s company.

 _Round and around we go_ , he thought morbidly.

But he hadn’t met the dwarves yet, any of them; he’d had a brief encounter with Gandalf (which had involved hiding in a dog-cage and resulting back-pains) he thought he may have seen Radagast in this very same park, and Galadriel had once popped into his mapmaking business.

The very same business which Smaug/Benedict was currently striving to bring down.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Will frowned absently down in his shoes; the beauty and peace of the park was forgotten in his worry about Smaug. Odd that he would choose to target Bilbo this time around – but then again, he hadn’t been able to find the Dwarves either. Perhaps they hadn’t returned for some reason; perhaps they did not take the chance offered to them, or were not given a choice at all.

It did seem unlikely, after thirty-nine years, that Bilbo would ever find them.

Bil – _Will –_ huffed a sigh and finally looked up from his shoes, gazing blearily at a split in the path ahead. He really should get more sleep.

Absentmindedly turning to continue down the right path, it was only a chance peep to the left that made Will realise that the bench was only a few metres away. It was facing forwards, the direction in which Will was about to head; the man’s face was turned away, hiding his features from view.

Will shrugged briefly to himself, attempting to throw off the lingering feeling of oddness and old memories; he was about to step forwards and continue on his way when the man turned.

All of the air was sucked out of Will’s lungs as if he had been punched, his fingers numbed and his mind stopped in its tracks, because that profile was so terribly familiar.

The dark hair may have been cropped, the chin clean-shaven, but Bilbo would recognize that long nose anywhere; the strands as silver as mithril interspersed among the black, the wide shoulders, the lean physique, all so very familiar.

 _This is it,_ Bilbo realised. _This is how it was meant to happen. Not with a bang, but with a whisper._

Bilbo stepped towards the bench, hand instinctively going to his pocket and bringing out the small object inside. The man’s head began to turn as Bilbo wordlessly held out the item.

Ice-blue eyes lingered on the object for a long, drawn-out moment, dark brows drawn together smoothing. The mouth twitched into a rueful smile as the gaze met Bilbo’s.

If first sight had been like being punched, this was similar to being hit by a truck.

Even as his breath disappeared and his mind fell apart, Bilbo found his mouth curve in an edgy returning smile. Dazedly he noticed that he’d been wrong, the man wasn’t clean-shaven; but even with the hints of stubble, physically he looked so, so different. Yet to Bilbo it was incredibly obvious who it was.

‘Thorin,’ he stated, surprised at how utterly unsurprised he sounded.

The man’s eyes – now, _they_ were exactly the same – softened and warmed.

‘Bilbo,’ he replied huskily.

It reminded him too much of the last time he had heard that voice.

_Farewell, Master Burglar._

A lance of physical pain, real and burning, sliced through Bilbo’s heart; if he had not felt it before, every day of every month of every year since a time too many millennia ago to count, he would have thought he had literally just been stabbed.

Bilbo looked down and to the side, twitching his nose briefly. This was just a little bit of a surprise, that was all, after thirty-nine years of silence; yes, the prickling in his eyes was definitely surprise, as was the lump in his throat, and when Thorin’s arms were suddenly around him and his face was pressed into his curls it was most definitely surprise that made his heart speed.

And it was undoubtedly surprise that made Bilbo do what he next did.

He pulled back so that he could see Thorin’s face, not leaving the circle of his arms (and happily, Thorin did not withdraw them.)

‘You don’t have a partner of any sort, do you?’

Thorin’s brow creased, expression of puzzlement flashing across his features as his luminous eyes flickered across Bilbo’s face.

‘No, why do you–’

He didn’t continue, but Bilbo couldn’t really blame him as his mouth was otherwise occupied at that moment.

Bilbo had to stand on tip-toes to reach the taller man – and he was a _lot_ taller – and for a few seconds that seemed to last forever, he revelled in the feel of Thorin’s stubble and his scent of pine and oak and the warmth of his body radiating through his navy coat, and the soft feel of his lips against his own. Bilbo hadn’t exactly…planned…to kiss him, but he had been going to do something – he had waited too long to be shy, and he had vowed long ago that if he were ever to meet Thorin on planet Earth he would do what he had always wanted to…no, not punch him (though that had originally been the agenda.)

And now he’d done it, his Baggins side had absolutely smashed his Took side (which had of course driven him to do the deed in the first place) and now he had really put his foot in it, hadn’t he?

Bilbo pulled away, dropping back down to the flat of his feet. He stared at Thorin’s eyes, torn between hope and fear, studying those icy irises for the minutest of reactions; before long, his wait was stemmed when the tiniest, fondest smile curled up the corner of Thorin’s mouth.

It was unfairly attractive, and before Bilbo’s mind exactly caught up with his body he had reached up once more, and Thorin met him eagerly halfway (too eagerly, Bilbo’s nose would never be the same…not that he was complaining). Bilbo curled his arms around Thorin’s neck and in return the taller man wrapped his arms around his waist; it was warm and soft and sweet and spoke of a thousand unspoken words, of waiting and wishing and dreaming in the shadows.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, Bilbo heard Thorin take a deep, shaking breath to match his own. A little sparkle ran all the way from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes, the fact that Thorin was just as nervous as he was finally cementing the tiniest ghost of a hope that had been dancing since a hug on the Carrock uncountable millennia ago.

‘I hate you for making me wait thousands of years for this,’ Bilbo muttered, the words devoid of any hint of annoyance. He opened his eyes to see a blue pair only inches away, staring right into his, the sight and smell and feel of Thorin engulfing him like warm water.

Only for the warm water to drain away when Thorin leaned away, his eyes dropping.

‘Many things exist that you should hate me for,’ Thorin said roughly, taking another step back and half-turning away; Bilbo recognized that expression well, and grabbed hold of Thorin’s forearm before he could draw too far away.

‘Don’t you even start, Thorin _Oakenshield_ ,’ Bilbo hissed, anger curdling in his stomach, words repressed for eternities rising to his tongue. ‘You made up for any actions millennia ago, alright? I forgave you after you had been _dead_ for five years, after I’d had ample time to think over everything. Maybe you had been a bit of an idiot, but you’ve _always_ been a bit of an idiot and frankly giving up your life because of it makes up for any idiocy in anyone’s books. I won’t have you _brooding_ again, or harbouring any more daft thoughts in that thick skull of yours. I am much looking forwards to seeing Fili and Kili and the others once more, so why don’t you let go of your obstinacy and realise that no one blames you?’

Bilbo glared at Thorin for a long moment, black hair and blue eyes filling his vision; as Thorin once again stayed silent and expressionless for a long period of time, the noise of birdsong and the swish of trees registered to Bilbo’s still somewhat shell-shocked mind.

A wall of blue suddenly obscured his vision; when coupled with the strong arms around him and the face pressed into his hair, Bilbo realised eventually that Thorin had hugged him again.

‘Thank you, Bilbo,’ Thorin murmured, the vibration transferring itself from his chest to Bilbo’s cheek.

‘Its…ah, no problem. No problem.’

Thorin drew away, so that Bilbo was once more able to see those luminous eyes and his small, soft smile.

‘Now, I think we may have a little catching up to do…’

Bilbo let loose a slightly hysterical laugh as Thorin grinned and looped his arm around his shoulders.

 

The acorn was a warm, smooth weight in his palm, and he felt that finally he may be ready to plant it.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> because i could not let bagginshield end c:  
> I hope you liked the fluff!  
> william packetts.....hue hue hue  
> hope you got all teh lil references XD


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